


So naive

by TheSwedishDestroyer



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Confessions, Confusion, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Slow Burn, really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2020-01-05 09:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwedishDestroyer/pseuds/TheSwedishDestroyer
Summary: Roger hadn't been exactly sure what he was expecting when he heard the sound of footsteps echoing through the relatively quiet corridor outside the open wooden doors of the auditorium. Perhaps he had expected some spotty baby-faced bloke with a mullet, or some chunky, mean looking still-kid with dusty brown eyes. Perhaps he'd even been expecting some short-haired, old soul looking fellow in autumn sweaters, judging by how Brian had described the lad.He certainly wasn't expecting what entered the room a few seconds later. The long haired, satin clad, soft-featured lad that stepped through the door, in high suade platforms and incredibly fitting clothes, no less, looked the picture of androgony, and hadn't Roger already known his name, he'd assumed John was some flat-chested birdie Brian had brought over for the sake of eye-candy.–In which Brian finds a stray engineer in that astronomy lab, and though Brian is alone in seeing no issue with that particular engineer only being 19 tender years of age, Freddie and Roger both soon realise that it might not be so bad after all, even though Roger admittedly takes a few too many weeks to warm up to him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't had much time to write lately, but I was feeling bored and sort of inspired, so I just sat down and threw this together. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it, and please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors, English isn't my first language.

Even in the not-so-peaceful and quiet domain of the Taylor Bulsara household, this particular level of noise seemed out of the ordinary. Roger and Freddie, with their gentle souls and wild exteriors, never fought. No, they had gotten to know each other well enough to recognise that neither of them would ever give up on an argument, it was simply a waste of energy and time.

Not that either of them were ever pressed about time during an argument, no, they'd stay in the flat for days in favour of winning.

That wasn't the case with Brian, though. They knew they could survive an argument with Brian, maybe even win if they were loud enough to drown out his rational and constructive arguments. And together? Well, they were a force to be reckoned with.

"A  _bloody 19 year old,_ Brian! He basically just got out of secondary school, there's no way he's any good! He a fucking _child!_ " Was Roger's very valid argument, according to himself.

"If you'd just hear me o-"

No, Freddie certainly wasn't planning on hearing him out. "This is ridiculous! You promised him an audition? How do you even know him? Do you have a thing for younger blokes?"

"What!?  _No!_ He's in engineering! He was fixing something in the lab I needed to use, a computer, and we got to chatting! It's nothing weird, and he  _is_ in uni!" The curly haired guitarist argued, from his spot on the couch, the bridge of his nose pinched between freakishly long fingers. "Listen, we  _need_ a bassist, right? He told me he's been playing for ages! In an actual band! He's a nice bloke  from what I've seen, and he's an  _engineer!_ A bloody good one, too! Even if he's shit, he can still fix our gear, I mean, I don't want to be electrocuted any more than the rest of you!"

And though Freddie and Roger  _were_ a force to be reckoned with, that wasn't an exaggeration, and even if they did find it incredibly disrespectful that Brian offered him an audition without consulting the two of them, they had to agree with his infuriatingly logical arguments. Really, what would one audition matter? Chances were he wasn't any good, best case scenario he'd play a few gigs with them, then he'd just be another name on the list, and they would gain a friend in the engineering department who could help them out for cheap.

But they really doubted they could let a 19 year old stick around for more than a few weeks. They did have an image to uphold, after all. 

Well, after they begrudgingly agreed, that's when things started changing. And later that week, in the auditorium of Brian's school, that's when they realised that they might have to eat their own words.

Roger himself hadn't been exactly sure what he'd been expecting when he was sitting behind his drums, impatiently drumming on the edge of his snare as he watched Brian set up and get tuned. Brian had informed them that they were meeting with the bloke, John, about ten or fifteen minutes from now, and of course Freddie wasn't there yet. That would be a great first impression, he thought. 

But then again, why did he care? It was just some 19 year old undergrad engineer.

Roger hadn't been exactly sure what he was expecting when he heard the sound of footsteps echoing through the relatively quiet corridor outside the open wooden doors of the auditorium. Perhaps he had expected some spotty baby-faced bloke with a mullet, or some chunky, mean looking still-kid with dusty brown eyes. Perhaps he'd even been expecting some short-haired, old soul looking fellow in autumn sweaters, judging by how Brian had described the lad.

He certainly wasn't expecting what entered the room a few seconds later. The long haired, satin clad, soft-featured lad that stepped through the door, in high suade platforms and incredibly fitting clothes, no less, looked the picture of androgony, and hadn't Roger already known his name, he'd assumed  _John_ was some flat-chested birdie Brian had brought over for the sake of eye-candy.

But John was carrying a distinctively rectangular case, leather-clad and just the bit longer than any case Roger had ever seen Brian with. Having gone through this process one-seven times before, Roger instantaneously recognised the shape of the bass case, and John definitely looked like a man on a mission, despite how cautious he looked about possibly having the wrong time or place, and just how horrified he looked when the door closed quite loudly behind him.

That only lasted a second or so, before he spotted the curly mess that was Brian's dark mane. And then, Roger witnessed in real time how relief and recognition washed over both of the scholars' faces at once.

"Ah, John! Right on time, ever as punctual, eh?" Brian greeted, and was just about to help John find his place to set up, when Roger cleared his throat, looking like a neglected child on Christmas morning, and Brian simply rolled his eyes. "Right. This is Roger, told you about 'im, didn't I?"

And Roger, who had yet to hear the young bloke speak, was surprised to find him setting his case down, simply to carefully stride over to the drums and stick his hand out in something of mock confidence. And he was even more surprised to hear the nasaly sound of a distinctive Northern accent that he couldn't quite place fall out of the unconventional looking lad. 

"Right, Roger Taylor, innit? I'm John, myself. John Deacon." he introduced, his face breaking into a bright smile when, despite the judging look Roger shot him, his hand was taken in a confident shake.

"Don't have to be so formal, lad. Go set up, Freddie should be here.. Well, who knows?" he responded, the tone to his voice that was perhaps a bit sharper than intended making John's bright smile falter.

And then John was gone again, and Roger was almost impressed that the slight jump off of the drum risers didn't make John twist an ankle. And when John kneeled to get his sun-burst finish Fender bass out of it's case, Roger was almost as impressed because it seemed to complement John's look beautifully, and Roger almost wondered if he'd styled his outfit around it.

And when John completely disregarded the tuner on the floor, and simply asked Brian to play his E string so they could be on the exact same page, Roger was getting nervous. Because he might have to accept a  _19 year old_ into the band, because Freddie would be enthralled simply with John's looks. And Brian already seemed to have his mind set.

"Alright, all set up.." John announced, still testing out the various settings on the not so familiar looking amp while playing some catchy but simple riffs, once having plugged in and tuned up.

"Alright, great!" Brian cheered, clasping his hands together as he stood up, eyes darting around the room, and then to his expression turned annoyed when he looked at his watch. "I have to apologise, John, Freddie seems to be late- ehm, maybe we could ju-"

And as if on cue, Freddie burst through the doors, breath caught in his throat. Roger was almost impressed to realise Freddie was only ten or so minutes late, but by the looks of it, he had been  _running_ the whole way there, probably realising a few minutes before he was supposed to be there that John was supposed to audition, and he had to make a good first impression by  _not_ being half an hour late.

"So sorry to keep you all waiting! I hope you didn't get started before I got here." he stated, a genuinely apologetic look on his face as brown eyes darted around the room, trying to spot the auditionnée.

And Roger would have to admit that it was funny when Freddie's eyes skipped past John, sitting prettily with legs crossed on an amp, probably making the assumption Roger would have made, that he was simply a flat-chested girl. And it was even more funny when his eyes snapped back to John, widening with realisation and a smile of approval growing on his lips.

"Ah, you must be John! I love those shoes on you, dear." he greeted, with some sort of cat-like gesture, a flirty rawr, and an equally flirty wink, and Roger could physically see the shock hitting John, as he was simply stunned for a moment or two, before he averted his gaze with a sheepish smile and a soft blush.

"Right, should have warned you about him." Brian chuckled lightly. "He's.. Eccentric, don't let him scare you off. That's the long awaited Freddie." He announced, shooting Freddie a warning look.

"Now, whatever do mean, Brian? All I've done has been being perfectly friendly. And appropriate, right John?"

But before John could even think of a response, Roger was tapping the skin of his snare to get everyone's attention. "Could we get started? I've got  _plans_ , can't stick around here all night listening to you two bicker. You'll scare John off, too."

And that was all the prompting Brian needed to start the usual auditioning process, which started with a few quick questions.

_How long have you been playing?_

"Since I was 14. Something over 5 years, just about"

_What are you currently studying?_

"Electrical engineering, at Chelsea."

_Could you tell us your name and date of birth?_

"John Richard Deacon, 19th of August, 1951."

_Who are your influences?_

"Chris Squire, John Paul Jones.. John Entwistle."

_And your favourite bands?_

_"_ The Beatles, The Who.. I like a lot of soul, can't seem to remember any off the top of my head, though."

_Have you seen us play before?_

"I have, yes."

_What did your think, then?_

_"_ You weren't... Well, not  _terrible,_ I suppose."

And then they were done. John had kept his answers short and to the point, and he wad definitely  _honest._ Maybe too honest, but that wasn't anything Roger could comment on.

And then it came down to the  _real_ audition. Sure, John was pretty, and he seemed like he knew what he was doing, but in the end, all that really mattered was if he could play.

And so John stood up, making sure that the volume was turned way up. And then he started playing.

Neither of the three had been expecting much, in all honesty. A 19 year old in the preforming arts department was rarely decent enough to get a gig anywhere, and a good 19 year old in engineering? Well, that was simply unheard of. But when John's sure, strong fingers started dancing across rough, thick strings, pressing them against dark wood, between metal frets, his right hand making out the rhythm of a song none of them had ever heard, they all shared a look.

John was  _good._ He was simply good. His beat was steady, never wavering or slowing or hurrying throughout the duration of whatever he was playing, his fingers never hit the wrong fret, and he wasn't doing some unnecessary sweep plucking to show off. No, he was simply good. And most importantly, his playing was more molodic than anything the band have heard from another bassist in ages, if not ever.

And on top of that, John's eyes had soon fallen shut and his head had fallen back, as he listened to the sound of his own playing, as if visual stimuli could break his focus. And a few seconds later, he had started moving his hips to the beat of the music, and Roger be dammed, because in that moment John Deacon looked  _ethereal,_ and Roger was right behind him and he could see just how pert his arse was in those sodding too-tight trouser and-

As if realising his thoughts were wandering, Roger shook his head as if to shake those thoughts off, and he quickly looked at his two current bandmates. To his relief, they looked just as transfixed on John as Roger had been moments ago, and very clearly hadn't seen how Roger's eyes had drifted.

And then, Roger started thinking again. This time about  _why_ he just thought about a bloke like he were a fit bird, why he just thought that John, the 19 year old engineer, was attractive. But before he could even finish his thoughts, he noticed John's head bow, chin touching his chest as his hand slided all the way up the neck to finish the song.

Hid head stayed like that, right up until the tone had finished ringing out, when he looked up, an expectant and hopeful look in his eyes as his eyes darted between the three musicians in the room.

Of course, Freddie was the first to speak up. 

"Perfect, John! Utterly perfect! Christ, aren't you something else, dear?" he chuckled, hands brought together in one single clap

"Yes, John. That was wonderful, I told you it would go alright, didn't I?" Brian agreed, shooting Roger a smug look.

And despite how perfect Roger really did think that John's playing was, and how he really didn't want to see him disappointed, making sure Brian didn't feel like he was  _entirely_ right was more important.

So when John turned to shoot Roger an expectant look, Roger just shrugged lightly. "Yeah. I mean, don't get me wrong, you were  _alright_ ," he clarified, and felt a bit disheartened when John's face fell to a frown. "But you did fall a bit behind tempo in second verse."

It was tiny, really. John had barely slowed down five BPM, but it was all Roger could think to criticise. Roger, of course, didn't think much of it. Until, to his horror, he noticed the nervously horrified expression on John's face.

"Oh, I just.. I was a bit nervous, I know it wasn't perfect, but really, I can do better, I promise, I can.. I can play something else if you'd like me to? Some Led Zeppelin or something?" the nervous bassist rambled, too quickly for anyone to get a word in.

"No, John. John, it's alright, I didn't even notice. Roger is just being picky, I'm sure, you'd never fall behind during a gig, and if you do we accommodate and work on it during practices, alright? That's what a band does." Brian assured, and to Roger's relief, John's face softened with a short nod.

But again, to Roger's horror, Freddie shot him a look. And Christ, if looks could kill. 

"Alright dears, I think it's time that we have a little band discussion. John?" Freddie schirped, and John got the message, lifting the bass over his head and setting it down against a wall before leaving the room with brisk steps.

Then Roger could finally let out a breath. 

That didn't last long, though, before Brian and Freddie both was huddled around the drums. 

"What do we think?" Brian inquired, the question obviously aimed towards Roger as Freddie had already made it clear what he thought.

And with the bow of his head in defeat, Roger let out a sigh. "He's great. And he fits the image. And he seems like a nice bloke." he admitted, very begrudgingly might I add.

"Alright then, I think it's settled! Unless you have something to add, of course?" Freddie questioned, with a quirk of his eyebrow in Brian's general direction.

"No, I agree. He's in the band." Brian nodded, and though neither of them would ever admit it, they could all feel the relief of possibly having found their permanent bassist, finally.

"But you two, try not to scare him off, yeah?"

And that was met with two equally offended and exaggerated gasps.

"As if!"

"Who, me?"

Then they all broke down into a fit of giggles, not sounding much different to a group of giddy school boys. 

What they didn't know, was that John could hear them laughing from the other side of the door, and John being his nervous self, immediately jumped to conclusions. More accurately, the conclusion that they were laughing  _at_ him. And that made his stomach sink into what felt like a black hole, because he really did want to join this band.

Because Brian was brilliant, and when he had seen Queen live that one time, Freddie seemed like the perfect showman, and from the few words they'd yet exchanged, he seemed  _so humble,_ and he did really love their music.

And then there was Roger Taylor. There was  _something_ about him. He was so different, precise om the drums and charming with people, and even John could see that Roger was so much more clever than he was letting on, and that was clever in and of itself, because people didn't want clever drummers. Especially not clever blond drummers.

And John be dammed, if he couldn't get to know these three brilliant characters. And John be dammed, if he wouldn't be able to play those equally brilliant songs. And John be dammed, if he'd just embarrassed himself in front of them.

But before John could think even more, and just walk away and ditch his stuff in shame, someone with a rugged blind mane of hair opened the door, urging him to come back in so they could announce their decision. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So sorry about the considerable hiatus, I've been quite busy and sick and just not motivated lately, but I'm working on getting chapters out a bit quicker. Anyway, good going lads, I'll try and get the next one out sooner!

It had been just about a week since John had been accepted into the group. Or, as he'd come to know them, the band of morons. Because really, you didn't have to know Queen for more than a week to realise that they were just that; morons. And John didn't mean that in a mean way, no, he really thought that they were some of the greatest and most clever people he'd yet to meet, but they were morons, in the truest and purest form.

Because even Brian May, probably the most brilliant and rational human John knew, could be the stupidest man on earth when he got to it. And even Roger Taylor, the most clever drummer to ever exist, could completely lose any of the little sense he put on. And even bloody Freddie Bulsara, who was so bloody humble and considerate and intelligent, that John sometimes wondered how he could even be real, could sometimes act like someone had bashed the brains out of him. 

Not that it didn't seem like people were tempted to do just that sometimes, but that was another tale. 

Because the May-Bulsara-Taylor trio was  _really_ something else. John didn't even have to know them for 24 hours to realise that– hell, he didn't have to know them for more than three hours to realise that.

When they had finally told John the news, which were that he was in the band, they had brought him out to a local pub to celebrate (despite John's stuttered protests). While it was good fun, the four of them chatting between one another and John getting to know the other three a bit more, with a beer or two each, things were soon getting out of hand; most notably Roger, who had somehow managed to dissappear from the group without anyone noticing, what, with his endless chatting and all that, was now doing shots off of some perky bird, while a crowd had gathered around to watch.

And Brian wasn't much better. He wasn't as much for the public shows as Roger were, but at some point he'd managed to find a girl with hair that was equally curly to his own, and had disappeared into the night, a cloud of giggles and untamed hair.

And that left John, alone with his very new friend Freddie Bulsara, who was making heart eyes at a particularly big looking fellow on the other side of the pub. John couldn't say he was particularly shocked, though; he'd heard in the passing of conversation how Freddie always strayed from the topics of fit birds, and always landed on the topic of equally fit blokes, and John hadn't ever been a gay basher, so it didn't bother him the slightest. He was mostly worried that his friend might get hurt because of it.

John had of course offered to leave, so Freddie could be alone with the bloke without feeling bad for deserting John, but Freddie had waved it off, insisting to walk John to the train.

And so he did. 

But now it was one week later and John was sitting in the rented out auditorium of Imperial college, mindlessly plucking at his bass as he waited for the other lads to arrive.

Well, he was waiting for Roger and Freddie. Brian was already there, with the particular rehearsal room belonging to his school and all, and it being just a few minutes before they agreed to meet. John was early, simply because he knew his position as the new guy, and wasn't planning on jeopardising his role in the band because he was late.

There was a silence in the room, broken only by the steady, almost melodic sound of Brian tuning his precious Red Special, as John had been told she was called. But something felt off, to John, at least. He hadn't expected the sound of bloody  _tuning_ to sound so gloomy. And the look on Brian's face wasn't exactly any more chirpy than whatever noise his fingers were feeling like doing, and admittedly, it worried John. 

"You alright, mate?" were John's next words of choice. 

"Hm?" went Brian's response, as his eyes shot up to scan over John's face. 

"You're sad about something." it was more of a statement, rather than a question. 

"I usually am." Brian shrugged lightly, almost flashing a smile. Almost. 

And John simply nodded in understanding, eyes returning to the neck of his bass to continue punching through some neat riffs he'd thought up. He could see where Brian was coming from, the pain they came with _knowing_ , not necessarily with being smart, but rather knowing about the horrors the world had to offer. Melancholy wasn't a stranger to John. Not at all, not since he'd listened in on the news on his very fist and very own radio back in the 60's, tuned to a channel not affected by censorship or listener numbers, simply just a Uni student, much like himself, with a desperate need to put the truth out there. 

But oh, was the truth ugly. The truth was so, so ugly. 

"How's it all coming along then, John?"

Brian's low and calming voice shot through John's occupied mind like a flaming arrow, and John just about managed ot stop himself from jumping out of his skin at the surprise, instead staring at Brian with furrowed eyebrow, as if trying to register what he had just said.

Then it finally clicked. 

"Oh! Pardon, a bit distracted, I was, I apologise. The songs, you mean? It's coming along pretty great."

"Yeah? Got them all figured out, then?"

"Absolutely! And I hope you don't mind, I had to do some editing. Didn't quite agree with what the previous guy wrote. Too simple, you see." John warned, setting his very precious Fender away to go fetch his notebook.

"No, the last guy was a moron.. Not even a decent player." Brian had to agree.

Soon enough, John returned, notebook in hand as he knelt beside Brian, flipping the notebook open to a neatly marked page, with 'Liar (Queen)' written at the top.

"This one's really the only one I thought I'd have to show you.. I'll run it through with the rest of the lads later, just wanna make sure it's alright with you."

"Alright, show me, then. What've you added?"

"Right here," John explained, pointing to a section of the song that Brian hadn't realised even existed. "I was running it through, and I felt there should be some sort of solo here." he explained, shooting Brian a nervous glance. "If you don't mind, of course." he added quickly.

Brian simply shook his head, fond smile dancing on his lips, "Don't be silly, of course I don't mind. We'll have to run it through with all of us, see how it sounds! I like the look of it, but it isn't really visuals that matters, is it?"

"No, I suppose you're right," John agreed, leaving the notebook for Brian to flip through before returning to his previous spot on top of the amp, legs crossed as his bass swiftly returned to his lap.

The next few seconds were spent in comfortable silence, with Brian reading through John's edits and John tapping out something on his bass, which started out very random but soon developed into something that actually sounded nice, even in John's slef-doubfull mind.

And, as if on cue, a certain blond drummer stormed into the auditorium, sticks raised high in the air, and a wide grin on his lips. "Well, would you look at the clock! Look who's in time, Bri!" he declared proudly, puffing his chest out.

"Roger, mate, I don't mean to discourage you, and I really am proud, but you are four minutes late."

"Oh."

"Right. Well, go sit down, John's got something to show you!"

Only then did Roger realise that he and Brian weren't alone in the room, and his eyes went to spot the bassists, prettily perched on an amp, legs crossed neatly and bass sitting in his lap. And Roger scowled.

"Oh,  _John_ has something to contribute, you say?" he muttered, tone as dry and mean as the look in his eyes.

It wasn't that he had anything against John, really. He didn't have any reason to, sadly. But Queen has always been a tight-knit bunch made up of years-long friendships and absolute and complete trust. And John was an outsider. An intruder. And a pretty one, at that, which never sat well with Roger.

"Yes, he does. Now go get behind those drums of yours, and for the love of all things sweet, behave." Brian encouraged, all but the last word in a cheery tone, in his attempt to make poor John feel like there was less tension in the room.

And of course, no one dared disobey mother May. 

So Roger was soon behind his drums, shooting John an urging look from his seat. And that was all John needed to clear his throat and speak up. 

"I just need you to play liar, but add 16 bars with the base rhythm after the whole 'mam I'm gonna be your slave' bit, yeah?" John explained quickly, earning a quick nod from Roger.

And the it all seemed to go so fast. Suddenly Roger was counting them in, and then John was playing, and then finally he was playing his solo, and then suddenly the song was over and John noticed that his eyes had been closed for however long.

And then there was an overly enthusiastic clap from the auditorium walls, and John's eyes shot to locate the source of the noise. He had to admit, he was quite relieved to see the fourth member of the eccentric band standing against the wall, a sheet of paper clutched in one of his hands and a very excited smile on his face.

"Oh, that sounded absolutely lovely, John! We are so keeping that, right? Bri, Rog?"

"Absolutely!"

"Eh, I suppose."

"Oh, don't be so dull, Roger!"

John couldn't say he was listening to the conversation. Well, he was lending it an ear, but he couldn't be bothered. Instead his eyes were locked on Freddie's hand. More exactly, the sheet of paper in his hand. 

"What've you got there, Freddie?" he finally blurted, cutting the soft bickering off.

"Oh, I'm glad you asked!" Freddie grinned, sauntering over to the piano with the sheet raised high in the air. He, took a seat, clearing his throat as he placed the sheet down with a fluid motion, "why, it's music, of course!" he announced.

And then quick, slender fingers were dancing across ivory keys. 

And soon, without warning or counting, the room filled with music. Occasionally, the band would mess up and stop. Usually, that would be on John, being the new guy and all, he was just catching up. Brian would be understanding, Freddie would almost be apologetic, but Roger.

Oh, Roger. 

He would glare. He wouldn't yell or comment, but he would  _glare_ , as if debating whether John was really good enough, and god, did it make him squirm.

But once all was sung and all was done, and they were just packing up, John set his bass in it's case, and later sat back on his amp with a sigh.

"Oh, Roger," he could hear in a chirpy and very Freddie tone across the auditorium, and Roger's voice sung back giddily and unapologetically, and John wondered why Roger wouldn't speak to himself like that. 

"What was that edit you did? The one in  _my fairy king_?"

"ehm.. The mother mercury one, I think, right?"

"Oh yes, that's it! Thank you!  _Mercury,_ I like the ring of it, don't you?"

"I do," Roger agreed, obviously going to say more, but Brian interrupted.

"I do too, it's the planet closest to the sun, incredibly beautiful." Brian, of course, sang, and Roger simply gave him a playfull swat over the head.

"Shut up, nerd!"

And then there was laughter, and John's posture slumped, because he wasn't part of it, and he didn't want to try, because in all honesty? Roger's glares scared him, but something about his eyes simply.. Made him nervous.

But John couldn't contemplate it much, though, because soon the crowd split up and Brian was walking over to John, so he straightened out his posture, plastering on a smile. 

"How you doing, John?"

"Think I'm coming down with something, honestly" he lied. Because he wouldn't want the guitarist to worry.

"Yeah, you're not looking to good."

Oi! Rude.

"Can I ask you something? In confidence, of course?"

"Sure thing, we're mates, aren't we?"

"Of course we are, I just.. What's with Roger? Why doesn't he like me?"

That seemed to put Brian for a spin, because suddenly he was quiet, as if thinking. Though he only kept quiet for a moment. 

"Roger.. I wouldn't say he doesn't like you. Roger is.. Difficult. He's very clever, you can't keep up with him unless you've got all your wits about you and you don't sleep. The way he looks at the world is different from the rest of us. He's sharp. He's aware of the trends, he reads the tabloids, even the music press, he knows who's hot at the time, he keeps up with fashion, with clothes, and he's in it with one goal. He wants to be a rock star, John. And he is. He's a rock star, who's just searching for his audience." Brian explained, and John had never been as perplexed, so he continued. "Roger wants to be a rock star, and he's bright enough to realise that having someone who doesn't share his goal in the band might not be good. He doesn't hate you, John, he doesn't even dislike you yet, he's vetting you. Seeing if you're good enough, if you want it. Because he wants all of it."

"Oh."

"Right. Good talk, mate, take care, yeah? Same time tomorrow?"

"not going out, are we?"

"Thought your were coming down with something, are you up for it?"

"You're right, I should probably pass on this one.."

Brian simply nodded, giving John a caring pat on the back before going to join Freddie and Roger's planning. 

And John could suddenly hear Freddie's shrill voice yelling, "Drink lots of fluids, John dear!" 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while. But now I'm back, and I'm back with vengeance. Enjoy, ladies!

Three months and seven gigs and countless rehearsals later, John found himself utterly wasted at the pub they'd just preformed at, and so far it seemed the crowds had accepted John as the permanent bassist of the band. 

John's trousers were way too tight, and the make-up Freddie had insisted he wear felt like dirt clogging his pores, he wanted to rub it off so bad, and his hair was stiff with hairspray, but he was exhausted, and had a drink in his hand that he hadn't had to pay for, so he couldn't afford himself the energy to care anymore. 

It was late, and they were on the outskirts of fuck-knows-where Greenford, too far away from home to leave without the apparently sober Brian to drive them home. The pub was dingy, and the smell of booze and piss hung low in the air, mixed with the bitter smell of sex and marlboro cigarettes, and he couldn't even locate Freddie in the thinning crowd. 

Finishing his drink, John nearly jumped out of his skin at an unexpected touch to his shoulder. John didn't often get get drunk, not particularly being a lightweight, but when he was properly hydrated, he lost all his usual sense of spacial awareness. He hadn't noticed Brian were even at the bar, until he touched him. 

"Good gig, today, eh?" Brian noted, sending John a particular look that he couldn't quite place. 

"I enjoyed it, yes," John said, not doing much to disguise the slight slur to his voice. 

"Roger's off with some bird, and heaven knows where Freddie is," Brian stated, before turning to face John.

John only hummed in response, sipping his drink. 

"And God only knows where your head's at. What's on your mind, mate?" 

John paused for a moment. Even if he could make sense of it for himself, he wasn't sure he could've told Brian. He had a feeling, whatever was on his mind, probably wouldn't play well with the band. Maybe it was pride, or fear, or something entirely different, but he just couldn't seem to form the words in his head. 

"Just thinking. It's getting late, we should pack up without the lads." John stated, throwing back the rest of his drink, before standing.

Ignoring the way his head spun with the effects of alcohol, he looked back at Brian for reassurance, before he made his way to the stage on unstable legs. 

John was always cautious when touching someone else's instruments. You never know what those could mean to someone, or how valuable they were. For instance, the thought of touching Brian's guitar never even occurred to him. But something in his guts told him Roger's drums didn't deserve gentle handling that day. Because who was Roger to run off with some woman and leave John to clean up his mess? 

They were heavy, though. John couldn't wrap his head around why he needed an 11 piece set for a pub gig. But then again, Freddie wanted a grand piano. Maybe that was just Queen. 

Brian handled his own stuff. Amps, cords and guitars, he even helped John load the drums. Usually, there weren't many responsible people in a rock band. If John had been responsible tonight, was a conversation he wasn't ready to have, but he knew he was more responsible than Freddie and Roger. Sadly, that meant doing the dirty work while they were off lollygagging and amusing themselves, but when it came to Queen, at least he had someone to help. 

Once all was done, and everything was in the van, John sat down in the back, staring out at the street in front of him as he sipped another beer. After all, what was one more? Sharing one with Brian, made it social drinking as well, which meant all the fun with none of the guilt. 

"Still don't want to tell me what's going on with you?" Brian questioned, his eyes shifting straight ahead. 

Maybe it was easier to talk to someone when you didn't have to look them in the eye. Maybe it gave you some sense of anonymity, or deniability. Maybe it didn't feel as intimate. 

Still, John only shrugged, "I'm not sure what you're talking about." he stated simply. 

If he was in denial, or simply didn't know what he was thinking, he could hardly tell you himself. 

"You've been getting wasted a lot lately. I've been a bit worried. I was thinking maybe you want to keep it private, but you'd be better off talking about it." Brian said, glancing at John.

Pausing, John gently shook his head, "I don't know what it is. I can't make sense of it myself. I've never really felt this before." he slurred. 

"Is it a girl?" 

"Sort of." 

Because it kind of was. Well, maybe not. Maybe it was entirely different. But he assumed this was how it felt. 

Maybe he was getting ready to tell Brian all about it. Maybe he was drunk enough to not realise what impact that might have. Maybe he was just getting tired of keeping it all to himself. 

But then Freddie was there, smelling of tequila and sweat, looking debauched and ready to leave. And then Roger was there, smiling smugly to himself as he waved off another one of his conquests. Because why wouldn't he be smug? He was always smug. 

"Right then. Took you two long enough. We've already done the heavy lifting, so if you'd just like to get in the van so we can leave already, that'd be nice." John slurred drily. 

"John," Brian mumbled, something of a warning in his voice. 

John didn't miss it. 

He just moved further into the van, rolling his eyes as Roger joined him in the back. Because of course  _he_ , of all people, was the one John had to share the small space with. 

He felt like he was digging his own grave, ignoring Roger for the entirety of the long, invasive and uncomfortable journey home. Because Roger only wanted to talk about his epic shag, and John only wanted one more beer.

They got back eventually, though, to Freddie and Roger's flat, east of Brian's campus. Brian had agreed to drive the van to their newly acquired rehearsal place. There usually wasn't any issues with this arrangement, but it meant that John had to walk ten minutes downtown to reach his own flat, and none of his bandmates trusted him to walk home alone, as wasted as he was. 

So, Roger volunteered to walk him home. John wasn't sure why, because he was under the conviction that Roger didn't care for him very much. But, who was he to protest, even if he theoretically had the ability to string a few comprehensible sentences together? 

"You're being a dick, John." Roger stated, ignoring the biting cold that surrounded them both, halfway down the street from John's flat. 

John wasn't going to deny that, but he wasn't going to admit it either. "How?" he slurred.

"You're ignoring me, and I've done shit-all to deserve it!" 

"yeah, because you're just perfect, right?" John huffed, rolling his eyes as he stumbled. 

"I'm not fucking perfect, but if you have a bloody problem with me, you better say it."

John didn't say anything. 

"Well, maybe it'd be easier if I told you a problem I've got with you," Roger huffed softly. He didn't have any problem with John, but he could certainly improvise. 

Only, John still didn't say anything. 

They stopped, outside of John's door, and he fumbled with his key. Roger didn't mind. 

"I think you're awkward. And unmotivated. I don't think you want to go the distance, you're just looking for Saturday night entertainment." 

It wasn't true. They both knew that. John loved music, and he loved Queen. Roger knew that. But he didn't have to admit it. 

John was still fumbling, so Roger snatched the keys from his hands, frustrated that John still wasn't saying anything. He still wasn't returning his insults. 

"You're boring, John. You don't act like rockstar, because you aren't one, and you wouldn't hold up trying to be one. You're already drinking, and we're just playing pubs. You're sad, John." 

If Roger was yelling, he didn't care. He'd been drinking too, but that didn't matter to him. 

Shoving the door open and pushing John inside, Roger glared, giving John the nasties look he'd seen in a while. 

And John still didn't say anything. 

"You're so sad, John. You don't know what you want, and you're not trying to figure it out, because it scares you. You're hiding behind your ability to figure out bass solos and soldering to avoid facing the fact that you're alone. You're alone and you don't have the guts to do anything about it."

There was a beat of silence. Because John didn't know how to react. Because maybe it hit a bit close to home. 

"You're such a dick. You don't know anything about me." John slurred, gently shaking his head, "You've refused to get to know me, you don't even fucking like me. What gives you the right to tell me who I am?"

Roger didn't respond. John just closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

Then John felt two hands cupping his face, and eyes shot up to meet the intruder's ridiculously blue ones. John was frozen in his place, eyes wandering over the features of a man who had just told him everything he was doing wrong, and he wasn't trying to push him away.

Because Roger was a proper jackass, and he was blunt and unpleasant at times. And John respected him. He really did respect Roger's opinions, and he valued knowing how to improve himself, and he _really_ valued the way his eyes were framed so dramatically and beautifully by the dim overhead light in the small room, and even in his current delirious state of tipsyness, he couldn't deny that Roger had the most brilliantly soft hair he'd ever touched–

John wasn't sure where his mind went next, because not-so-soft and entirely intoxicating lips were being pressed against his own, and he could only lean into it, answering the kiss in some sort of sloppy and uncoordinated way that matched exactly what Roger was doing to him.

For a moment, there was just kissing, eyes lazily hooded, cheeks flushed with alcohol, limbs carelessly clinging to each other as soft noises escaped between all the sloppy sounds of a heated make-out session.

But that only lasted for a moment. 

Because then Roger was pulling away just as quickly as he initiated the contact, and pushing John against the wall, thinly vailed violence behind his eyes. And maybe John was a bit too drunk, because suddenly he was on the floor, intimidated eyes staring up at a snarling drummer. 

And soon, Roger was raising his hand, and perhaps John was still stuck in Liechester, where an older bloke raising his hand at you could only mean trouble. So he pressed his back against the wall, staring up at the drummer with wide eyes, his mouth suddenly dry. 

Apparently there wasn't any need for the panic, because Roger was only reaching to touch his lips, lips that were tingling with the aftershocks of the kiss.  

He did feel a need to act tough though, as if the situation they'd just found themselves in had been completely on John, so that if anyone was getting kicked out, it was John. And if anyone was a poof, it was John. And yes, it was selfish, but it was all Roger could think to do.

And so he waited for John to realise he wouldn't hit him, and he waited for John to look up at him, before shaking his head in disapproval, something of disgust on his face. 

"Jesus Christ, John," was all he snarled, before stepping back to storm out of John's tiny flat, leaving him where he was on the floor.

And once he was far enough from John's flat, he stopped dead in his tracks to dig up some cigarettes, in order to contemplate what the fuck he'd just done to poor innocent little John, who'd never done anything to hurt him.

John didn't show up to rehearsals the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so that's that!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, and let me know if you want me to continue with this.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


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